


one day at a time

by quenchycactusjuice



Series: Post-Canon Marianne & Connell [2]
Category: Normal People - Sally Rooney
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenchycactusjuice/pseuds/quenchycactusjuice
Summary: It doesn’t happen the way that Marianne assumes it would. There is no dramatic gasp of realisation, no panicked dash to the pharmacy, no tear-filled declarations.Trashy films and television lied to her.
Relationships: Connell Waldron/Marianne Sheridan
Series: Post-Canon Marianne & Connell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755250
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	one day at a time

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of abortion. This is one of the more heartbreaking fics I’ve written, but it was an idea that wouldn’t let go and one I tried to write sensitively and consistently to their characters.

It doesn’t happen the way that Marianne assumes it would. There is no dramatic gasp of realisation, no panicked dash to the pharmacy, no tear-filled declarations.

Trashy films and television lied to her.

Instead it’s just cold floors and blank eyes, and the dull awareness that this has the possibility to change everything. 

Because Marianne is pregnant, and she has no fucking clue what to do. 

*** 

That’s how Connell finds her; sitting on the freezing bathroom floor with her head resting against the wall, tilted upwards to a God that obviously either doesn’t exist or doesn’t care.

Marianne is still holding the test. Both tests, actually. 

He sits down beside her, quieter than she’s ever felt him. He doesn’t say anything. Marianne doesn’t know if he can. But he puts his hand in hers and squeezes. The tension leaves her body in a long sigh, and she gladly leans on his shoulder.

It’s enough. 

That night, they lay in bed with their foreheads touching and legs tangled. The humidity of Connell’s breath brushes against her cheek in the dim yellow light of a single bedside lamp. 

Why does it smell like you ate a whole bulb of garlic? Marianne asks. It’s the first proper sentence she’s said since she found out this morning. 

Connell snorts, although not as loudly as he normally would. A pang of shame hits her. You know I can never resist the garlic bread at that cafe, he murmurs. I ordered some in while you were sleeping.

Marianne laughs, but it sounds pathetic. Connell is silent for a moment, before finally speaking. Marianne, what do you want to do? We can’t keep avoiding this. You’ve barely said a word.

She wants to make excuses and skirt in every which way around what she is actually thinking, but this is Connell. She doesn’t want to lie to him. Not after everything they’ve endured through just to be where they are now.

So she says what she knows. She says the truth.

I wouldn’t make a good mother ...and I don’t want things between us to change ...and I still have things I want to do, she says. The reasons spill from her lips. Maybe if enough tumble out, she won’t have to see the heartbreak and betrayal in Connell’s face. 

But those expressions on Connell’s face never come. It was stupid of her to imagine they were ever there in the first place. Instead, he simply presses a gentle, warm kiss to her cheek. 

And so you know what want, he says softly. 

Yes, she replies.

I wouldn’t have been ready for a kid, either, Connell offers. We’re in this together. Marianne lets go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

The following week, he comes with her to the clinic, a solid presence never far from her side. 

***

The house is dark when they come back, and cold. 

Marianne winces as she sits on the lounge, while Connell flips on the light switches. She winces at the lights, too.

One moment, Connell says. Marianne watches curiously as he wanders into the pantry. Sounds of clanks and clattering accompany him.  
What are you doing in there, she calls.

He emerges with a hand behind his back. Like a hunter presenting his fair lady with prize game, Connell offers her a jar of chocolate spread with a spoon stuck in it. Marianne stares. His gaze is so open, so guileless. It takes her back to that day all those years ago, when they were two school kids with no idea. 

She reaches for the jar, only to gasp in outrage when he takes the spoon and sticks the huge glob of chocolate in his mouth.

Mine, he manages to garble around the spoon. Frankly, she is impressed he can even talk with that much in his mouth. He now has a shit-eating grin on his face. Marianne laughs, and the sound is loud and pure to her ears.

Maybe they’ll be okay.

***

Someday, when they’re both good and ready and not a moment before, Marianne will hold a very similar set of tests. 

But this time, she’ll stand up with strangled yelp, not able to contain her excitement. Connell will come crashing in from the next room, reddened cheeks casting his eyes into an impossible, bright blue.

They’ll hold each other, lost in this charged atmosphere of anticipation and awe. And when their son is born many months later, squalling in the early hours of the morning, it’ll mark a new chapter of their lives.

Look at what we made, Connell will whisper against her cheek. It may be the pain, or more likely the drugs, still Marianne swears she has never loved him more than this moment. It’s just the two of them, and their son. 

When they let Lorraine into the ward, she cries and blubbers enough for both of them.

I am so proud of you both, Lorraine says, grasping onto Connell’s hand tight enough that he’s been trying unsuccessfully to slip loose for three minutes. It has been three minutes, too. Marianne has been counting.

It’s because of you that we’re here today, Lorraine, Marianne tells her honestly. Thank you for everything. Lorraine smiles that smile of hers, and Marianne tries to blink the sudden brightness from her eyes.

Here, Marianne says, do you want to hold him?

It won’t be perfect. It never will be. But being perfect has little to do with being happy, and Marianne has long since decided that happiness is a far better triumph.

They’ll be okay. All of them will be.


End file.
